No Cure for Death

by Hazel Holt

  In the car driving home Alan said, “Sad, wasn’t it, that there were no relatives – I don’t count that ex-wife of his, a nasty piece of work I should say. I always think it’s one of the saddest things there is to have no one to call your own at the end.”

  “I know,” I said, falling back behind a caravan that was swaying rather erratically over the road. “We’re lucky.”

  “You’ve got young Michael and Thea and little Alice, they’d never let you down.”

  “No, bless them, I don’t think they would.”

  “It was always a sadness to Mary and me that we never had children and when my poor Mary died, I couldn’t believe my luck when Susan said she’d come home to be with me. There’d been a falling out in the family – you wouldn’t remember it, you were too young. There was this fuss when she wanted to marry Jim Campbell and go off to Canada with him. She was barely twenty and he was much older. My father put his foot down and said she couldn’t go – well you weren’t of age until you were twenty-one in those days. But she went all the same and he never forgave her. My mother was very upset, but she’d never go against Father. I was away in the Middle East then – I hadn’t seen Susan since she was a little girl – so I missed it all.”

  “I never knew that. So what happened?”

  “Well, a little while after my parents died I came home to England and some years after that I had a letter from Susan saying that Jim had died and couldn’t we keep in touch. She said how much she missed the family.”

  “That was nice.”

  “One of the best things that’s ever happened to me,” Alan said, “and Fiona too – well, it’s as if she’s my own. No, I’ve been very blessed and that’s why it grieves me that a good man like John Morrison should have gone out of this world with no one of his own to grieve for him.”

  “Nora grieves for him,” I said, “but I do see that however many friends you have, and however loving they are, it’s not the same as family.”

  Was John Morrison a good man, I wondered as I made myself a cup of tea when I got home? He was brilliant, everyone agreed about that, but good? There must have been something good about him for Nora to be his friend. I wished that I’d known him, properly, as a person, not just casually as a doctor, so that I could know what he was really like and understand why someone hated him enough to kill him.

  Chapter Ten

  I’d just finished changing the bed – something I try to do when Foss is out of the way since he always wants to join in, and changing a duvet cover with a cat inside it is not easy – when there was a ring at the door. It was Roger.

  “Sorry to arrive unannounced,” he said, “but I was passing the end of your lane so I thought I’d call to tell you the latest.”

  “Come in,” I said. “Tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee please.”

  He followed me into the kitchen and sat down at the table while I put the coffee on.

  “I also want to thank you,” he said.

  “Thank me?”

  “I had a visit from your friend Nora Burton. I imagine that was your doing.”

  “Well,” I said virtuously, “I did say I thought she should tell you everything she knows.”

  Roger regarded me quizzically. “Everything she knows?” he enquired.

  “Of course.” I got out the biscuit tin and put some chocolate digestives on a plate. “So what’s happened?” I asked.

  “To begin with, we’ve got Rhys Hampden. The Bristol police found him. He was living in a squat and frightened to death, poor lad.”

  “Frightened?”

  “Apparently he owed some local drug dealers money and they’d been threatening him. That’s why he was so upset when Dr Morrison refused to give him any more methadone – he’s already had his proper amount. He’d planned to give it to the dealers in return for a little more time to pay them. When he couldn’t do that he just ran away.”

  “And you don’t think he had anything to do with the murder?”

  “I’m pretty sure he didn’t.”

  “Not even in a panic?”

  “Not really. I don’t think he had it in him, and, anyway, there’s still the problem of the weapon. None of the doctors can think of anything that would make that sort of wound lying about in the surgery.”

  “So what’s happening about Rhys?”

  “His parents are getting him on a drug rehab scheme. We should come down on him pretty hard for bolting like that – wasting police time and so forth – but, thanks to him, we’ve been able to clean up a local drug cell.”

  I poured the coffee and pushed the plate of biscuits towards him. “So that was a dead end – now what?”

  “Well, thanks to your friend Nora we do have a couple of new leads.”

  “A couple?”

  “Well, I’ll certainly be having a word with this Lorna Spear. If she really has been stalking Dr Morrison, it could have led to something else – these things quite often do. And, of course, she was the person who found the body.”

  “I suppose,” I said, “that would have been the most straightforward way to kill him. I mean, there wouldn’t be any creeping around not wanting to be seen or anything.”

  “How long would you say it was between Rhys Hampden coming out and Lorna Spear going to see Dr Morrison?”

  “Oh dear, I don’t really know. It seemed like quite a long time, but it always does when you’re waiting for something. Almost five minutes, perhaps, or a bit less. Anyway, old Mr Prothero, who was his next patient, got fed up and went to complain and that’s when Lorna went to see what the hold-up was. Well, that’s what we thought, of course. But she could have gone in there, killed him and come back and said she’d found the body.” I shook my head. “But could she? I mean, it would take an amazing nerve to do a thing like that. I don’t know if Lorna could do that.”

  “If she was stalking Dr Morrison,” Roger said, “then she must be unbalanced in some way and when people are unbalanced they do peculiar things.”

  “I suppose so,” I said doubtfully.

  “I’ll know a bit better when I’ve had a chance to talk to her.”

  “You’ll mention the stalking?”

  “It is pretty central to the investigation.”

  “But you won’t say it was Nora – I mean, you won’t say how you heard about it?”

  “Of course not. ‘Information received’. If she denies it and we find that she was connected with the murder then your friend will have to give evidence.”

  “I’m sure she would be willing to do that. You said there were a couple of new leads. What is the other?”

  “This mystery woman who visited Dr Morrison – I think we must see if we can find her.”

  “Not easy.”

  “No. It’s a pity your friend had scruples about watching her. Still there are other neighbours, someone may have seen something useful.”

  “Poor Nora,” I said, “she did want to protect John’s privacy.”

  “If you get yourself murdered then I’m afraid there is no such thing as privacy, everything has to come out and everything has to be examined. How else can we get to the bottom of things?”

  “I know, and I’m sure Nora knows too – well, she must if she told you – but, all the same, she’ll have felt she was betraying him. She was very protective of him.”

  “What was their relationship?” Roger asked casually.

  “They were friends.”

  “Just friends?”

  “Just friends. She was quite a bit older than him – though I know that doesn’t seem to mean anything these days, but it would to Nora. No, he was her friend, and her father’s friend too. He used to come down by himself when Nora was in London and go sailing with old Mr Burton. I expect she told you that.”

  “Yes, I gathered they more or less made him one of the family.”

  “I think so. I do wish I’d known him like that, as a friend of Nora’s – I seem to have got him quite wrong.”

  “That
doesn’t sound like you, Sheila,” Roger said smiling. “I always count on your judgement of people.”

  “Like most people, I only ever saw him in his professional capacity – brilliant but disagreeable. Even my friend Alan, who always sang his praises as a doctor, never really saw the human being. I gather the other doctors didn’t like him much – I don’t think he socialised with any of them. Have you spoken to them yet?”

  “No, I’ve read all the statements, but I wanted some sort of idea about their relationship with him before I actually spoke to them.” He looked at me hopefully. “Have you heard anything?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, let me know if you do. I rely on you for all the gossip!” He looked at the kitchen clock. “Goodness, is that the time, I must be going. Thanks for the coffee and, remember, I look on you as my eyes and ears!”

  “So can you do the scones and sandwiches,” Thea asked. “If you could manage one of your chocolate cakes, they always go down very well,” she added.

  “Oh yes, that’s all right if you won’t need them till Saturday.”

  Now that Michael is Captain of the local cricket team poor Thea has to organise the cricket teas.

  “That’s brilliant. Fiona’s promised to make a sponge and some small cakes – it’s such a blessing that she’s going out with Phil Armstrong; she’s a brilliant cook! So I think we should be all right.”

  “I do hope it’s going to be dry,” I said. “I suppose we should have expected a wet spell after all that fine weather.”

  “The forecast’s not bad.” Thea said absently. “Oh, there was one other thing I wanted to ask you. Alice is mad keen to come, but I don’t think she’ll last out the afternoon. Could you be an angel and take her back home with you after a bit.”

  “I’d love to, but will you be all right with the teas?”

  “Fiona said she’d give me a hand, and it would be such a help if you could see to Alice.”

  Saturday morning was overcast, but after a couple of hours the sun broke through and by the time I got down to the ground it was really quite pleasant.

  “Just enough moisture in the air to help the ball swing a bit,” Michael said, helping himself to one of the sandwiches I was putting out. “Let’s hope we win the toss.”

  Alice, who was standing beside me, tugged at my skirt to attract my attention.

  “Come to see Daddy play ball,” she said. “Can Alice play ball?” she asked hopefully.

  “Not just now, darling,” I said. “Later on you can come home with Gran and we’ll play ball.”

  Alice seemed satisfied with this promise and retreated to a corner of the pavilion where she engaged in her current passion of dressing and undressing her baby doll and putting it into its carry cot and taking it out again. When the match began I went outside and sat on one of the benches to watch. Michael’s wish had not been granted and his side were put in to bat and lost two quick wickets.

  “It looks as if Michael’s going to have to play a Captain’s innings.” Dr Macdonald came and sat down beside me. “He and young Armstrong need to put on a decent number of runs to give our side any sort of chance.”

  “Oh hello. Yes, you’re right, let’s hope they both settle down.”

  We chatted for a while about the cricket and then I said, “I imagine you’re still finding things difficult at the surgery.”

  “Badly understaffed,” he said. “We’ve got this young Dutch chap – very good, we were lucky there – but he’s just on a three months’ contract and most of the people we’ve interviewed aren’t suitable. We’d really like another woman, especially with Joanna off soon for goodness knows how long, but they’re what everyone wants nowadays.”

  “I would have thought a Taviscombe practice might be attractive – sea, lovely countryside and all that. Ideal place to bring up a family.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But it doesn’t seem to work like that. No, it’s getting more and more difficult. That’s why we thought we were so fortunate to get Morrison.”

  “Everyone says how brilliant he was.”

  “No question about that – though there was that business with Ken Webster. His son is still threatening to sue, which is absolute nonsense. He can’t accept that the heart attack was quite different from the low-grade angina his father had had for years and came right out of the blue. No one could have predicted that. I just hope his solicitor has the sense to advise him properly… Oh well done – that has to be a six! Young Armstrong is shaping up really well.”

  “Mind if I join you?” Alan came and sat down with us on the bench. “I wanted to see this young man of Fiona’s in action. He looks promising.”

  “I think he’s got the makings of an opening bat,” Alec Macdonald said, “and that’s what we really need.”

  “So you don’t think Richard Webster’s got a case?” I asked, wanting to get the conversation back.

  “No, not really, certainly not medically speaking.”

  “Richard Webster?” Alan said, “is he still going on? I mean it was very sad about his father, but Richard seems obsessed and he’s wound poor Moira up so she doesn’t know what’s happening.”

  “Perhaps after what’s happened,” I said, “Dr Morrison dying like that, he may let things drop.”

  “I sincerely hope so,” Alec Macdonald said. “I’ve enough on my plate as it is. Sheila, you know this policeman, Eliot, have you any idea how the case is going?”

  “I think they feel it’s early days yet.”

  “He hasn’t spoken to any of my people yet. They all gave statements when it happened but I think they expected to be questioned a bit more in depth.”

  “About how they got on with Dr Morrison and things like that?” I asked.

  “Something like that, certainly.”

  “How did they get on?” Alan asked.

  “Well, you know how it is in any kind of closed community, there were tensions – only to be expected.”

  “I suppose,” Alan said thoughtfully, “when you get someone like Morrison in general practice there’s bound to be some jealousy. I believe he was doing some outside research.”

  “Yes. The trouble is Sam Porter is doing research too, though his is for another company.”

  “So what caused the trouble?” Alan asked.

  “Until Morrison arrived Sam had always been that member of the practice who was engaged in something special and important. It gave him a sort of status, I suppose – not to mention earning money for the practice. So when someone arrived who was, to put it bluntly, intellectually superior, who’d actually been at the cutting edge, as they say, of really high-powered research, well, you might say his nose was put out of joint.”

  “I can see that,” Alan said. “It must have been awkward.”

  “Sam couldn’t resist making snide remarks, trying to put Morrison down, but, of course, he wasn’t in the same league. Morrison gave as good as he got, or ignored him in the sort of patronising way that must have been very galling. What was even worse, he had quite a bit of expertise in the field that Sam was researching and I believe – though I never actually heard him do it – that he questioned some of Sam’s findings.”

  “Oh dear,” I said. “I heard he didn’t suffer fools gladly. Not,” I added hastily, “that Dr Porter is a fool, but I can see how impatient John Morrison might have been if he thought something hadn’t been properly checked or clearly thought out.”

  Alec Macdonald sighed. “Too much of a perfectionist for his own good. I mean, wonderful academically, in the world of pure science, but in the real world, it can be uncomfortable for other people.”

  “And the others did find it uncomfortable?” Alan asked.

  I was glad to hear Alan asking the questions I wanted the answers to. Alec Macdonald considered this for a moment then he said, “There were some more personal disagreements, things happened that shouldn’t have – I can’t, obviously, go into details – but I was worried about the effect o
n the practice. We have to work as a team to some extent and when you get that sort of disharmony it throws the whole organisation out of kilter. That’s why I’m worried about this investigation – I honestly don’t know what is going to come out. Everyone’s on edge – not just the doctors, of course, but all the other staff – since it seems possible that we may have a murderer in our midst. Not to mention losing a man of Morrison’s calibre in that appalling way.”

  We were all silent and it was almost a relief when there was a shout from the field and Phil Armstrong was out.

  “Thirty-nine,” Alan said, “not bad on this pitch.”

  “That chap of theirs is still getting the ball to swing a bit.”

  “The sun’s quite hot, it might dry out later.”

  “Well, certainly, it would help, but it’ll need more than that to help our spinners.”

  The talk then became exclusively of cricket so I said goodbye and went back into the pavilion.

  Thea was laying out cups and seeing to the tea urn.

  “Oh good,” she said, “I was just coming to call you. I think Alice has had enough; she’s starting to get a bit whiny. So if you could…”

  “Of course.” I went over to where Alice was moodily kicking the side of her doll’s carry cot. “Shall we take baby doll home and give her her tea?”

  Tris and Foss, always glad of any diversion, came to greet us in the hall and Alice, her good humour restored, went off happily to throw a ball for Tris in the garden, while Foss watched disdainfully from a safe distance.

  As I buttered the bread for the banana sandwiches and got out the iced fairy cakes, I thought about the conversation with Alec Macdonald. He was normally the most discreet of men, so he must have been exceptionally worried about the situation at the surgery to have spoken as freely as he did. Of course a murder does create fear and suspicion, especially where there’s already been tension and mistrust, but I wondered what else – what he hadn’t spoken of – might be disturbing him so much.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I really ought to check that everything’s all right at John’s house,” Nora said. “I haven’t been in there since – since he died, and I suppose someone ought to. It’s just that – well, you know how it is – I can’t quite bring myself to face it.”